


It gets better, in time.

by Jaskiers_BrokenLute



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (and failing), Ambiguous/Open Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt is Trying, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Oblivious Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Relationship, Sad Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sad Jaskier | Dandelion, Slow Burn, Tired Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25414573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaskiers_BrokenLute/pseuds/Jaskiers_BrokenLute
Summary: "It's really not his fault, Jaskier reasons, that Geralt doesn't understand."Jaskier is working himself to the bone trying to keep up with Geralt, said witcher is completely oblivious to this fact.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 80
Kudos: 672





	1. Chapter 1

It's really not his fault, Jaskier reasons, that Geralt doesn't understand. 

It wouldn't be fair to the witcher for Jaskier to assume that he would understand what humans can and can't withstand, or the extent of the vast differences between humans and witchers. 

Some witchers might, but not Geralt. He makes a point of only interacting with humans when he needs work or coin, both of those usually going hand in hand, which helps to lower the amount of human interaction he has to suffer through. That, and the occasional visit to a brothel or maybe a game of gwent is as much as he's ever done in terms of socializing. 

With his lack of knowledge on the subject, Jaskier knew that Geralt simply didn't understand how, to put it simply, humans worked. Especially one that was traveling along side him for no apparent reason, or no reason apparent to the witcher himelf at least. 

Jaskier would never hold it against the witcher when he over-worked him or made him walk a bit longer than he could keep his energy up for, there was no way Geralt could know when he's not been around humans enough to understand they didn't have the same stamina or wear with all that his kind did. 

It's not that Geralt is stupid, he knows that he's stronger and faster than humans, he understands that they're weaker, but it seems to be that, so long as Jaskier hasn't yet collapsed with exhaustion, he can keep going.

So, he would simply try to get a few more hours of sleep the night after, pack a few more rations for when his energy died out, and overall just take extra precations for the times Geralt would push him without knowing he was. 

Once he'd tried a different approach, the obvious of actually telling Geralt that he couldn't keep up with him and it ended about about the way Jaskier thought it would. 

"Geralt, do you think we could stop for just a moment, it's not exactly easy following behind a horse all day." He'd tried, speaking for the first time in hours due to the burning in his lungs that stole all of his air and left no room to waste his breath on words. 

"No one told you to be here bard, if you can't handle it leave." He hadn't even turned around to see the state Jaskier was in, completly dismissed him, and while it was half-expected it still hurt. 

"A simple no would have sufficed," He muttered to himseld, tightening his grip on the lute strap wrapped around his front and pushing on.

He could hardly sleep that night, his legs cramping up the moment he layed down, his feet and shoulders throbbing. Exhaustion set into his bones so heavily that it had the exact opposite effect that it should have, keeping him staring at the starts for the majority of the night, he'd come close to begging Geralt to give him a swift punch in the jaw, knocking him out so he could get at least a few hours of unconciousness in.

Later on he did end up falling asleep, but it was fitfull and far from the rest he needed to sway the overexertion that he'd been put through the day before. But, since bringing the matter up with Geralt went down horribly, he had to shove the pain down far into the back of his mind and force himself out of bed before he was left behind. 

It seemed that the amount of walking one man could take in a day was the least of his worries in the 'clueless Geralt' department. This fact became apparent when Jaskier was once again caught in the crossfire after Geralt had told him to stay behind. 

In his defense, Geralt looked cornered, one ugly creature that he couldn't remember the name of coming in from behind Geralt while he was thoroughly distracted by an equally as ugly thing in front of him. 

Now Jaskier was going to run as Geralt had instructed, but the thought of this being the last memory he had of Geralt was enough to push him towards the danger instead of away. 

He pulled his dagger out from the sheath in his boot and ran full speed at the beast that was still steadily creeping up on Geralt. The blade looked like the equivilant of a sliver compared to the size of the thing, but as long as he could divert it's attention away from Geralt long enough for him to kill the first one he would count this suicide mission a success. It hadn't really crossed his mind in the moment that this could have been his final act, the single thought on his minde being 'protect Geralt'.

A thought that Geralt would call completely absurd, a helpless little bard protecting a witcher? Unheard of, and completely idiotic. Anyone wanting to protect Geralt in any sense of the world seemed like a delusion to the man, but like common sense to Jaskier, so he charged the creature with a dagger in his hand, the confidence as if it were a mighty sword, ignoring every instinct of self preservation he had left and sunk the blade into the side of it's exposed stomach.

As he'd expected, no real damage had been done, Jaskier was surprised the thing even felt it, but it turned its great ugly head away from Geralt, stopping in it's tracks and turning towards Jaskier, which was staggaringly more terrifying that he'd had the mind to expect. 

"Shit," The world barely passed his lips before the ground disappeared beneath is feet and all he could hear was wind rushing past his ears. 

It took a sharp, solid pain in his back to realize he'd been struck and flew backwards, hitting a tree and then the ground like a straw doll tossed to the side by an uninterested child. 

It took an equally as horrible pain to realize that the hit had left a large gashin his stomach, not terribly deep but quite long, and not totally superficial from what he could see, which wasn't much given the dizzying hit to the back of his head. 

The cut ran from the bottom of his right rib to the tpp of his portruding hip, his gut taking the worst of it if the depth were anything to go by. The sight and the pain in his skull caused nausia to rise in his throat, the taste of bile assaulting his tongue as he swallowed what had come up. 

His head fell back against the tree, hands closing into tight fists as he tried to stay both awake and calm through the pain. He met eyes with Geralt when his vision cleared up enough to focus on anything, and the witcher looked absolutely furious. 

Jaskier flinched back at the look, very much not excited for when that anger would inevitably be turned on him. At least he's alive, he figures, he's allow himself to be at the business end of his friend's un-checked anger if it meant he were alive to be angry in the first place. 

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Geralt all but growled as he sunk to his knees beside Jaskier. He couldn't recall Geralt walking over, or when he'd finished off the beasts, but as he looked over the scene in front of him it was clear that Geralt had done them off easily, there was hardly any blood or debris on the witcher at all. 

"It was behind you," He defended himself, the pain of speaking going straight to his head and once again wavering his line of sight. 

"I know." He bared his teeth as he spoke, the look enough to send a shiver down Jaskier's spine, and not the usually shiver he gets from hearing Geralt's voice. 

"I'm sorry,"

"Shut up, let me see." He gestured towards the bard's bloodied and torn shirt, leaning in closer to get a clear view of the damage. 

Jaskier pulled the bottom of the ruined shirt from where it was tucked into his pants and freed the cut of the fabric, wincing at the first proper view of it he had. 

Geralt immediately moved in to prod at it with rough hands, pressing firmly on the sides of the wound and wiping the blood still spilling from it away with much more pressure than was welcomed by Jaskier, a stinging pain running through his very core with every touch.

He winced at the harsh treatment but tried to keep the true level of pain off his face, Geralt didn't know he was being too rough with him, having never had to properly patch someone other than himself up, who could clearly take far more pain that Jaskier. 

"It's not too deep, it will close soon." 

That sentence, even without Jaskier's rattled state, was confusing at best. 

"They don't usually just close Geralt, cuts like this need a bit more, assistance, than that." He tried to provoke the obvious answer out of Geralt instead of simply stating it, not wanted Geralt to be any angrier with him than he already was, and insulting his intelligance certainly wasn't the best way to avoid that. While Jaskier was no doctor, it was clear that this wound would need at least a few stitches, and more certainly would not 'close soon'.

"I have bandages in my pack," He grumpled, standing to grab said bandages. 

"That's great but I mean-"

"I know more about this than you Jaskier, leave it. You wouldn't be in this mess if you knew anything in the first place!"

Geralt left no room for argument, the fire in his eyes making Jaskier sink into himself and swallow the rest of his sentence. 

He let Geralt wrap the bandages around his still bleeding wound, tighter than he would have done it himself, but it was probably for the better that way, would staunch the bleeding until he could slip off to a proper heaaler and get the medical attention he needed. 

"Can you walk?" Geralt asked once he was finsihed his half-arsed treatment, standing back up to his full height. 

Between the wound that he was sure wouldn't stop bleeding until it was stitched closed, the hit to his head, and the surely nasty bruises forming on his back, he was sure he'd fall over half way into town, but Geralt was standing above him, judginh eyes staring down at him, bleeding from his own wounds that were earned in battle and very obviously low on patience. He was afraid for what verbal abuse he'd get if he admitted to being so weak as to need a ride from what Geralt surely thought was just a scratch, not to mention the chance that he'd be left behind when Geralt next left for another contract. 

"Yeah," He lied with a forced smule, pushing himself onto his feet with gritted teeth and sparks of pain shooting from his middle to the tips of his fingers. 

Geralt gave him a once over with critical eyes before nodding and mounting Roach. 

Jaskier let out a shaky breath, just now realizing the stabbing pain near his ribs with every inhale, which was just wonderful, really. 

It honestly wasn't that far, a little perseverance and he'd be safe in town with a warm bed, a healer, and some much desereved rest. 

He repeated that mantra in his mind after he started to sweat a few minutes into the walk, getting louder as he stumbled over his own feet every few steps, each time sure it would be his last before his face met dirt. 

Even in his head he couldn't keep repeating it after his vision grew spotty and his shirt began to grow heavier as he bled through the final layer of bandages. 

Every step jostled the wound, rattled what he assumed was a damaged rib and made his head throb anew. Biting his lip did little to catch the pained noises escaping him with every step, he tried to keep quiet lest Geralt turn back and roll his eyes when he saw the state of him over such a simple innjury. 

He could do nothing to fight back the tears, but by some miracle he managed to stay upright and quiet as he trudged along much furhter from Roach than he'd usually let himself stagger. 

Somehow, he made it into town before succumbing to the pain and letting himself drop in the middle of the road. 

"You go ahead to the inn, I want to take a quick look around the market." He forced the sentence to sound as normal as he can through his heavily gritted teeth and the lump in his throat. 

He knows he looks horrible, his hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, he's bleeding out and doing nothing to hide it, tears streaming down his face and hardly holding himself up on his shaking legs, but never the less, Geralt simply grunts and goes on without him. 

Jaskier tries not to let it hurt him, how he could die right here and Geralt wold simply move on to the next town without a second thought, only thinking him weak for being taken out by the superficial wound he gained by his own stupidity. 

That thought is, however, second to his need for medical attention. 

As soon as Geralt is out of view he lets out a stuttering breath, sounding painful even to his own ears, pushing himself into the center of town, asking everyone who isn't actively avoiding his gaze where he can find a doctor, directed by their worried faces to the same place, a small stone house on the east edge of town. It's just his luck that he happens to be in the west side of the village, he nearly gave up just at the thought of walking all that way. 

It was frustrating beyond recognition, burning him from the inside out as he curses every god and person he can think of, forcing himself on unsteady feet to the other end of this godforsaken shit hole of a village, that he doesn't recall being so fucking big. 

Finally, after what felt like hours of walking, the house is in sight, it's like a glass of cold water after crawling out of the desert. The tears still leaking down his cheeks could be from pain or relief at this point, and he hardly cares to think of the difference, more focused on getting himself to the door. 

One heavy knock on the wooden door is all the manages before crumpling to the ground, whatever adrenaline fueled energy he had left leaving through his fist and disappearing, much like his blurring vision. The last thing he sees is the door swinging open and pair of lovely shoes before he drifts off.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier meets geralt at the inn

He wakes up on a soft bed, the pain that recently made up his entire being nothing but a distant memory. 

Everything seems like a distant memory now that he thinks of it, everything after he stoop up to follow Geralt back to town is hazy in his mind, how he got here even more so.   
He's not quite sure where 'here' is. 

The room is small, filled with candles, bottles and bowls filled with plants and liquids he didn't recognize and other unmentionable.s 

So a healer, or a mage of some sort. 

Clever, he thinks, of himself to drag his half-dead body here. 

Speaking of, he looks down to find his middle wrapped far more proffesionally, no blood soaking through the white bandages this time. 

"You're lucky to be alive young man," The voice startles him for a moment before he turns his head to find a tall, well aged woman standing in the doorway. One glance down confirms that he's the lovely shoes he vaugely remembers. 

"I'm guessing I have you to thank for that." 

"You'd be correct," She smiles, coming forward to stand at his bedside.

"A bit longer and you'd have bled out on the streets,"

"Lucky me getting here on time," He tries to joke past the excestential dread that fills him knowing he was on the brink of death mere hours ago. 

"I wouln't call yourself lucky just yet." She scoffs, turning to face her shelf of bowls and bottles, fidgeting with what she first gets her hands on. 

"It's not often someone comes knocking on my door, laying on my steps like a lost mutt. So I must ask, what happned?"

"I was jumped outside of town, had to walk here from a few miles out," He half-lies, not wanting to paint Geralt in a bat light. 

"I'm surprised you made it." She comments, probably not meaning for it to come out as mean as it sounded to him. 

"Not that I don't appreciate your hospitality, madam, but seeing as I'm no longer on the verge of death, may I go?"

"You're in no shape to travel," He answers, turning back to face him. 

"I agree, but I'm not loaded with options at the moment. In fact I'm on a bit of a deadline." He notes the now darkened sky outside the window. He also notes the specific movements that pull his stitches as he pushes himself into a seated position, legs dangling off the bed. 

"Perhaps you need to re-think your arrangment, the wounds you came here with weren't all apparent."

"I don't understand," He wraps an arm protectively around himself, careful not to push on anything that feels bruised. 

"If you keep pushing yourself beyond your limit you'll find yourself dead far before your proper time." She says plainly. 

It's not as if he didn't know that, but hearing it from someone else, a doctor at that, makes it all the more real. But again, he hasn't many options if he wants to stay beside Geralt, which is something he's not willing to give up, unfortunately even at the threat of death. 

"How much for the treatment?" He avoids the topic, reaching for his coin purse, which she must have removed from his pocket since he finds it on the bed beside him. 

"I've already collected the fee, you wouldn't be alive if you didn't have the coin for my service."

"Anything I should know about my condition, doc?" He asked after weighing the pouch in his hand, trying to gage how much he'd lost. 

"You've got a cracked rib on your right side, bruises pretty much everywhere but your arms and legs, took a pretty nasty hit to the back of the head, not to mention your obvious lack or food, water, and slee. I could tell that much after one look." She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. 

"Clean the wound once a day, try to change the wrapping if you can, and take care of yourself. If you can't do that I can't help you,"

"Well then, I guess I have no business left here." He stood up, swaying on his feet for a moment before his head seemed to sit on straight again. 

"Take care of yourself kid, you have too much ahead of you to throw it all away for him," She spoke as he reached the door, freezing for a moment at the words. 

'Mage then,' He thinks before continueing out the door, opting not to respond to the words that he truly doesn't want to believe. 

He's thrown away alot for Geralt over the years, gained a lot back, but it's a bit sad when he thinks of all that Geralt wouldn't risk for him. The difference was apparent, should be enough to turn him away from the man that he's so pathetically fallen for, 

With love this hopeless it's impossible to turn your back on it, you can't walk away from something that you don't have, and he honestly doesn't know what he'd do with himelf if he were no longer following behinf the white wolf, spreading his tales and himself far too thing. It's his normal now. 

"Hello Geralt! All patched up I see." He puts on his usual joyous tone as not to give away any hints that something may be off. 

"You weren't at the market." He says bluntly, looking up at Jaskier for hardly a moment before making his accusation. 

"What? Of course I was," 

"You don't have anything, you've been gone for hours and you never return without a bunch of useless shit when you go to the market by yourself." 

"Well, I've no need to explain myself to you Geralt, where I was is my business," He crosses his arms and sits carefully down on the bed nearest him, biting his cheek to keep the wince off of his face. 

"You're wearing someone elses shirt."

"I am?" He looks down and sees that he is, in fact, wearing a different shirt. It's no wonder really, the other shirt was in tatters. This one is nearly a perfect recreation of what he'd been wearing before, but brand new, no doubt magiced into existence by the mage. 

"Of course I am, I bought a new one like I said I would. I mean honestly Geralt, do you expect me to walk around in a bloddy torn shirt all day?"

"Hmm," Jaskier rolls his eyes and lays back on the bed, his feet still planted on the floor. Despite his hours of rest at the mages house, exhausted. 

He allows himself to drift off there, legs still dangling off the bed, fully dressed, too tired to move let alone make up the bed properly. 

He'd need all of his energy and then some tomorrow, he could do nothing but pray that a contract would pop up over night and he could be given sufficient time to sleep off his injuries, but he doubts he'll be that lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter coming tomorrow and in Geralt's pov


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralts pov

"One room," Geralt grunts, placing his coin pouch on the counter. 

"Two beds," He adds quickly, not used to having to prepare for more than just himself on the road. Jaskier usually does this part. 

"Third door on the right," The bar maid answers, matching his gruff, blunt way of speaking. 

He nods a thank you and grabs the keys off the counter. 

"There's going to be a bard through here, direct him to my room when he does," He doesn't wait for an answer before retreating to the room, certain Jaskier would find his way back even if she didn't direct him. 

The room was small but nice enough for one night, the beds were shoved close together, a window between them and a small desk in the corner that looked on light push away form turning into a pile of fire wood. 

He sets to his usual routine, unsheathing his swords to clean them of the monster's blood and removing his armour for the same reason. 

First, though, he attends to the few wounds the pair of cockatrice had left him with, small cuts on his arm that would need nothing more than a quick wash out to be fully healed by morning. 

The ordeal was quick and quieter than usual, which was to be expected with the absense of Jaskier, but still wasn't entirely as welcome as it once was. 

As used to traveling alone as he is, the bard's background noise had become normal, something he expected with every passing minute, the quiet now ringing in his ears along with the heavy feeling that something was missing. 

He shook of the feeling, not supposed to grow attatched to peple or anything for that matter. Growing attatched only meant weakness, dependence and in the end, loss, disapointment.   
It's better to stay used to being alone, even if it seems impossible to shake himself of the bard.   
Not that he'd really been trying. 

It would be hard to adjust when Jaskier inevitably left, got bored, or simply ran out of ways to make Geralt seem like someone worth singing about. So he wouldn't push the bard away, but he wouldn't let him any closer than he already had. 

The fear he'd felt today when he watched Jaskier thrown across the road was a clear indicator that Jaskier was allowed far too close to him. He was becoming attatched. 

Fear is something witcher's aren't supposed to feel, not over someone else's well being or your own. It slows you down, distracts you, two things that get a witcher killed faster than any monster ever could. 

And yet, the was there, still lingering inside of him with every moment proof of Jaskier alive and alright isn't directly in front of him. While the wound wasn't bad, the look on Jaskier's face made him feel as though it was, he looked half dead. A look that wasn't going to be leaving his mind any time soon. 

Being afraid for someone else isn't something he's used to, he had no idea how to deal with it.   
Like most feelings that he didn't understand, he manifested it into anger, misplaced and directed towards his very source of fear. Jaskier.

He'd been lazy, probably should have kept a close eye on the bard as they trekked back, made sure the bleeding had actually stopeed, or at least let him ride on Roach with him. He'd let an injured human walk the entire way back to the village, dissmissing him as easily as dust off his shoudlers after a fight. 

Jaskier must be okay, though, he'd gone shopping instead of back to the inn, so he's fine. 

If he weren't surely he would have told Geralt, he may be dim but he wasn't stupid enough to hide something as serious as an untreated injury from him. 

He'd begrudgingly accepted the fact that Jaskier trusted him, so it would make no sesne that he wouldn't trust him with his health, so of course, he's fine. 

No, he has to stop this, worrying fort he bard. He's the one who'd gotten himself hurt in the first place, stupidly trying to protect him after he told Jaskier to stay back. 

He is the witcher, it's his job to take care of monsters, sometimes more than one at once, sometimes without his sword, it didn't matter the conditions, Jaskier should never feel the need to jump into the ring, put himself at risk for the sake of Geralt. He'd done nothing to earn that, and he didn't need Jaskier's blood on his hands. 

The rising emotions that resulted from his thoughts were worked out by roughly scrubbing the dirt and blood off of his armour and sword, getting ready to sharpen the second sword when Jaskier still hadn't returned after the cleaning was finished. 

It had never struck him how used to their routine he was until he had to actually revert back to what he had done before Jaskier had taken up the place next to him. Sure, they parted every once in a while, but then he knew Jaskier was gone, now he was supposed to be here. 

All he can think of is where Jaskier is and if he were in any sort of danger if he'd left. It shouldn't matter either way, but it does. 

Hours later, hours passed dark and hours passed the shops certainly closing, Jaskier finally came back, wearing a different shirt than he'd left in, coin purse significantly lighter, and with nothing to show for it. 

It was clear the man hadn't stepped foot into the matker place, he looked different but Geralt couldn't place how. 

He was acting werird too, as if he himself didn't even know where he'd been. The shirt he was wearing seemed to come as a surprised t him, the following statement clearly a lie. 

Why would he lie about where he got his shirt?

Before he could ask or call him out on his obvious lie, Jaskier was half-asleep on the bed, nearly passing out as if he hadn't slept in days despite the fact that he slept just last night. 

It was odd and slightly worrying, but he seemed fine. Perhaps the bloodloss was a bit mroe than he'd thought and had taken its toll on the bard's energy level. It's understandable for him to be drained after the hit he took on top of the wak to and from the village. 

Geralt sighed and stood up, grabbing Jaskier around the back and under the knees to place him in bed properly. 

He didn't wake up or move at all as Geralt adjusted him, must have been exhausted to fall asleep that deep that fast. The blood loss is the only explanation. Jaskier really hadn't walked more than usual, slept the same way as always and hadn't asked for a break at all through out the day. So the wound it is. 

He pulled the new shirt up to check on said wound, wanting to be sure it was closed properly and to check if maybe he'd missed something, maybe it was deeper than he'd originally thought it was. 

When the bandages were revealed he immediately knew they weren't the ones he'd applied. They were professionally done, went higher up his torso and across his ribs. Why did he go to a doctor to get his bandages re-done? Geralt couldn't have done horrible enough a job to warrant Jaskier looking elsewhere for help. He could have told Geralt they bandages weren't enough. 

Geralt ignored the stab of guilt and pushed on, finding the end of the bandages and carefully unwinding it from the bottom up, lifting Jaskier's hips and back gently each time, sure not to jostle him too much. He removed it just enough to reveal the cut and no more, sure that the bandages went that high for a reason and not wanting to hurt the bard more than he already had. 

Definitely had gone to see a doctor, the wound had been stitched closed, blood stains surrounded the area, it must have been bleeding steadily for quite some time for it to look like that. Why didn't Jaskier just tell him? If he was bleeding out while they were walking he should have told Geralt, the idiot could have died. 

If his injury went beyond the cut on his stomach and was worse than Geralt had originally diagnosed, he shouldn't have been able to walk to town. It was baffling that he didn't collapse half way there, or at all for that matter. 

He couldn't help the guilt eating away at him, and confusion? Jaskier trusts him, right? He'd said so himself multiple times and shown it in a million different ways, so why now? 

When Jaskier woke up he'd get his answers, he'd let Jaskier sleep as long as he needed and then properly asses the extent of his injuries to see if he was fit for travel or not, then, once he was sure Jaskier was telling him the truth he would find out why he had hidden this from him. And, if he'd lost the trust he had in Geralt, why he came back. 

He fell into a restless sleep that night, giving up a few hours in to simply watch Jaskier. If the bard was going to leave in the morning he could at least spend a few hours with him now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we're back to Jaskier's pov and maybe they will talk about this?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier and Geralt talk.... a little

Jaskier woke up slowly, a little stiff but feeling more well rested than he has in as long as he can remember. 

He sat up slowly, careful not to pull his stitches or jostle his hurt rib. The sun was shining through the window, it looked around mid-day. 

Oh god, Geralt had left without him. He saw what he'd done and left, why would he bring such a weak human along with him when all he would do is slow him down. 

His throat burned at the thought, it was a long time coming but that didn't make it hurt any less. 

"Jaskier?"

He turned his head to the side so fast he grew dizzy. 

Right, hit to the head, careful with that one.

Geralt was sat on the same chair he had been when Jaskier fell asleep, he was left to wonder if he'd moved at all since then, but was too busy being relieved to verbally ask. 

"How do you feel?" He asked, getting up from the chair to sit on the bed with Jaskier. 

"Good," He answered, his eyebrows coming together in confusion. Never once has Geralt acted like this. He'd postponed their travels by the looks of it, and now seems to care about his state after he'd barely spared it a thought when it was a pressing matter yesterday. 

What changed between yesterday and- oh, he's certainly not where he was when he'd gone to sleep. Geralt moved him, he'd have thought it was sweet if he wasn't pre-occupied with knowing that Geralt had certainly seen what he'd done. 

"Where did you go yesterday?" 

"I think you already know." Jaskier answered, not meeting Geralt's eyes. 

"Why? If you were still hurt you could have told me." 

"I could have told you?" He asked with an incredulous laugh, "I tried! I told you it wouldn't just close, I told you bandages wouldn't be enough and you ignored me! You told me you knew more than I did and completely brushed me off. I walked all the way back here bleeding out and you didn't even look back to check if I was still living, so of course I went to a healer because you didn't care! I could have died yesterday and you wouldn't have known, so no, I couldn't have told you." 

Geralt's eyes were wide as he took in all that Jaskier had said. All that he could think of was how Jaskier could have died. Came close to it only hours ago because Geralt had been an idiot. It would have been his fault, is his fault that he came close to death at all. 

"I didn't realize," He started, not sure exactly what he planned to say, hadn't realized he'd nearly killed Jaskier yesterday because he was too thick headed to actually ask if he was okay? Didn't realize he'd probably been doing that since day one? 

"I know," Jaskier sighed, moving to sit beside Geralt on the edge of the bed, no longer hiding the look of pain on his face as he moved himself. Geralt reached out to steady him as he winced, Jaskier allowed it, seeing the guilt painted all over the witcher's face. 

"I know that you couldn't have known, the only injuries you treat are your own and I'm sure that on you it would have been superficial like you said, but you could have listened to me." Jaskier explained softly, trying to ease Geralt's concisounce while also wanting to get through to him about his cluelessness when it came to his health. 

"How bad is it?" Geralt asked, staring at Jaskier's lap, not wanting to look him in the eye even as the man was trying to comfort him despite being the one who could have died yesterday. 

"Besides me nearly being dis-embowled?" Geralt looked up at him, his eyes horrible filled with hurt. 

"Right, sorry, not a good time to joke around." He steeled himself, trying to think of a way to make it sounds mild, it's not his job to take the guilt off of Geralt's shoulders, but he hates seeing the man in pain because of him, even if at the end of the day it's techincally Geralt's fault. 

"Cracked rib, bruised up back, and a pretty nasty hit to the head, I'm fine though, really." 

Geralt turned it over in his head, all of that and he still made Jaskier walk back, made him feel he had to seek out medical attention himself because Geralt didn't care whether he lived or died. And he claims he's fine.

"Can I see?" 

Jaskier nodds silently, peeling the new shirt off and letting Geralt look over his wounds. 

He gently took the end of the bandage and unwrapped it, setting it aside in case he didn't have enough of his own left to re-wrap it when he was finished. 

The cut was closed well, the stitches clean despire the dried blood still clinging to his chest. His entire right side was covered in molted bruises, purple so deep it was nearly black, the same spread over his entire back, yellowing around the edges. Every inch of him that was clearly in pain was another stab of guilt through Geralt's chest. 

This time he let it happen instead of blocking out the feelings, this time he deserved the hurt of it. 

He moved up to Jaskier's head, gently pushing the hair aside to assess the wound, it wasn't too bad, no broken skin but just as bruised as the rest of him, his head must have been pounding the entire day. 

Silently he moved off the bed and to his pack, collecting every salve he had, vowing to buy human pain killers and potions at the next alchemist he stopped at, none of his potions safe to give Jaskier. 

"This will help with the bruising," He explained, pulling the stopper out of the salve jar, tilting it towards Jaskier for him to look. 

"May I?" He asked, looking down at the paste then back to Jaskier, who nodded once he realized what Geralt was asking. 

He dipped two fingers into the jar, scooping the oily substance out of it and moving behind Jaskier, starting with the worst of the bruising on his back. He must have hit the tree hard, he could see where the impact hit him the worst, the right side of of his back the darkest of the bruising where his rib was cracked. 

As gentle as he brused down Roach he applied the salve to the bruises, Jaskier flinched away at the first touch of it to his skin making Geralt pull back instantly.

"Sorry, it's cold." He explained, offering a small smile, hopinh Geralt would know he hadn't hurt him. 

Before going back in he rubbed the salve between his two hand, warming it up sufficiently this time, kicking himself for not realizing it would be too cold apply directly. 

"Geralt, I can practically hear you thinking. It's okay." Jaskier soothed, sensing Geralt's inner turmoil.

"It's not," He replied quickly, not looking up from where he was rubbing soft circles into Jaskier's side. 

It felt good, slightly tingly on his skin, already calming the ache that he was made of. It went on silently until Jaskier was completely covered in the tingly feeling, the only pain being in the base of his skull where he refused to let Geralt put the salve, his hair was already dirty as it was, he didn't need any extra grease adding to the mess. 

"Thank you." 

"Hmm," Geralt dissmissed, not accepting the thanks. He wouldn't have needed the help if Geralt hadn't hurt him in the first place. 

"Are we going to talk about this?" Jaskier tried once more to start the conversation they needed to have, he understood that Geralt didn't want to face the guit right now, but if they didn't talk it out then this was going to keep happening. 

"I need to exercise Roach," He grunted, leaving the room once he'd finished wrapped Jaskier's middle but up. 

He didn't actually have to exercise Roach and Jaskier knew that, she'd been out last night and was more than used to a day of rest, probably needed it to be honest. But he didn't push it, Geralt could use a few hours to think things over and hopefully realize what he could be doing to help instead of ignoring the subject all together. 

"Okay, say hi to her for me will you?" 

He nodded and left the room. Jaskier sighed, a sinking feeling that Geralt wouldn't return any more immenable to talk than he was when he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This fic is being recieved wayyyy better than I thought it would (for me lol i know its not much but knowing a couple of people are reading and waiting for updates makes me so happy)  
> So thank you for keeping up with this story, leavjng kudos and commenting (you are all so sweet and your comments are literally the highlight of my day)   
> i genuinely hope you continue to enjoy it, updates will continue to come as regularly as possible!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More oblivious idiots with a touch of softness.

When Geralt returned from 'exercising Roach', Jaskier was asleep again, his hand slid in bewteen the pages of his notebook as if he'd fallen asleep before he could fully open the book. 

He must have been beyond exhausted to fall asleep so suddenly twice in two days. How long has he been pushing himself too far and not telling Geralt how truly tired he was? No, how long has Geralt been ignoring and overlooking his basic needs, running him into the ground? 

Geralt resolved to stay in town until Jaskier was in good enough shape to travel without collapsing every time he laid down to sleep. He needed proper rest, not exhaustion naps. 

He shook the thoughts from his mind, they'd stay here and rest and deal with the problem of traveling again when Jaskier was fit enough to actually participate. 

Geralt grabbed one of the pillows from under Jaskier's feet, the bard having fallen asleep on top of the blankets, feet at the head of the bed and vice versa, and placed it gently under Jaskier's head. 

He'd almost flipped him onto his back, not wanting to risk pulling the stitches with him sleeping on his stomach, but thought back to the bruises on his back and head, Jaskier would more than likely wake up in pain if he slept on those bruises. 

The stitches would hold through out the night, Geralt doubted Jaskier would be tossing and turning with the state of sleep he's in now. 

Not wanting to risk moving him despite his deep sleep, Geralt removed the blanket from his own bed and placed it on top of Jaskier, making sure he was fully covered and wouldn't wake up uncomfortably cold in the night, it was nearing autumn and the wind blew cold at night. 

Before settlign down himself he removed Jaskier's journal from under his hand and placed it carefully on the desk that came with their room, not wanting the bard to ruin the pages while he slept. 

Jaskier stirred as he pulled the book away, clutching the pillow under his head in place of the book. 

Something about the action screamed innocence, reminded Geralt how young Jaskier was when they'd started traveling together. 

Now he was late into his twenties, not terribly young but still seemed fresh out of his youth compared to Geralt, the way he saw life did nothing to reveal his age, not to mention the fact that he looked like he was barely aging physically. 

Jaskier stilled had so many options, he was talented, could become a court bard in an instant, live a life of luxury and never want for anything again. And yet, he left that behind to follow a witcher around the contanent. He gave up warm beds and an actual home to sleep outside on the hard ground in harsh weather, eating unseasoned wild meat twice a day if they were lucky, piss ale and cheap stew if they truly lucky. He tired himself out day after day, risking his life and reputation with every minute he spent associating himself with the butcher of blaviken, all for nothing but a few songs. 

Treated like shit by the person he depended on to protect him, to be his friend, nearly died by his ignorance, and still he chose this life. Chose Geralt. 

If Geralt couldn't sway Jaskier's choice and make him see reason, the least he could do is try to become a worthy travel companion. 

For the third time in as many days, Jaskier woke up on his own terms instead of the blinding sunlight forcing his eyes open, Geralt's boot kicking his side, or water splashing his face, and he felt truly rested. 

He sat up slowly, still feeling stiff but not as completely shitty as he had felt the last two times he woke up. His back and head didn't throb with pain, he figured that tingly salve had worked better than he thought. His bandaged were still a crisp white and nothing felt wrong, he was sure he'd have a clean bill of health in no time. 

Rubbing the blurryness out of his eyes, he noticed a few things. 

1\. There was a pillow under his head that certainly wasn't there when he fell asleep, if the position of his head were anything to go by. 

2\. Geralt's blanket draped over his body.

3\. His journal, placed safely on the desk even though he's sure he'd written in it before falling asleep. 

And 4. The sun shining through the window. 

Geralt must have moved him again, making sure he slept comfortably and without wrecking his journal, as well as putting off travel for another day. He hoped that Geralt's generosity wasn't a one off thing based around his guilt and god forbid, pity, but he didn't hold out much hope. 

Speaking of, Geralt was nowhere to be seen. If it weren't for his swords leaned up against the opposite wall, Jaskier would have thought he'd up and left him, but he knew Geralt wasn't cruel, he wouldn't have left. 

Not to say that he hasn't slipped away in the night before, but they'd always spoken about it, or Geralt would leave some barely written note saying the direction he was headed or telling Jaskier not to seek him out for a while. But he wouldn't leave while Jaskier was hurt, and certainly not knowing that it was partially his doing. At the very least he'd wait until Jaskier was well again. 

Suddenly, Jaskier wasn't so eager for that clean bill of health. 

Before he could think more on Geralt abandoning him, said man walked into the room holding a tray of food. Jaskier would have joked that he'd make a good bar maid if the tension in the room didn't thicken the moment Geralt met his eye. It was clear he hadn't been expecting Jaskier to be awake yet. 

"I brought food," He said, looking down at the tray in his hands. Jaskier has never seen Geralt appear so shy, it was almost flattering to be the one to bring Geralt down a peg. 

"Smells good," He offered when Geralt didn't move from where he was or say anything further. The comment seemed to prompt Geralt back into action, placing the tray down on the desk and handing Jaskier one of the servings. 

On the plate was a few slices of bread, cheese and some dried meats, it looked like heavan compared to the amount and quality of the food he'd grown used to. 

The taste surpassed his expectations, usually at inns like this the bread was at least a little stale, if not compeltely molded over, and to find fresh cheese was a blessing in itself for a traveling man of his income. 

He moaned as he bit down on the bread and cheese, letting the flavour melt into his tongue before swallowing. 

"This is delicious," He spoke through his second mouth full, already piling another ripped off peice of bread high with meat and cheese. 

Geralt bit back a smile as he watched Jaskier shovel the food into his mouth. Any other person eating like that he'd have assumed was starved, hadn't seen fresh food in months, but now he could only think of Jaskier love for all the simpler things, a peice of cheese free of mold was no delicousy, but Jaskier made it seem like the finest feast a noble had to offer. Geralt could hardly argue as he took a bite of his own, actually appreciating the taste instead of simply eating to stave off hunger. 

"Where did you get this?" Jaskier asked, a piece of dried beef sticking out from between his teeth. 

"The market," He answered simply, taking a swig of the ale he'd bought from the tavern downstairs, offering Jaskier's to him. 

"Thank you," He took the tankard with eager hands, downing half of the drink in one go, he pulled the cup away from his mouth and glared at Geralt, "Is this water? Do you have water too?" He stood up on his knees to try and see into Geralt's cup. He rolled his eyes and nodded, not needing Jaskier to question why he was forcing water into him but not himself.

"Why'd you go to the market, was the inn out of food?" 

"It was shit," He replied, the inn's breakfast had small portions, Jaskier needed actual food fit for a grown man, if his size and how quickly he got tired were anything to go by he was on the brink of malnuritment. 

"We're staying here a while, I got another contract." 

Jaskier thought back to his prayer the night previous, asking for Geralt to find a contract so he could sleep properly, it seems his prayer has been answered. 

"Oh, not often you find two contracts in the same place." 

"Mmm, well, I did," He answered, packing away the remains of his meal and standing up, sorting through his pack. 

That answer, along with his immediate removal of himself from the conversation didn't sit right with Jaskier. He couldn't tell if it was simply the tension between the two of them of if Geralt was lying to him about the contract. 

If he was, Jaskier couldn't tell if it was Geralt simply trying to get away from him during the day or if it were his emotionally stunted way of keeping them in town longer without admiting that he cared for Jaskier's health. Both options left an ache in his chest. 

It's not surprising that Geralt would want a break from Jaskier, they had been together for a bit longer than usual, and Jaskier knows he can be too much, especially for the witcher. He's loud, obnoxious, isn't great at knowing when to stop, and gets on Geralt's nerves without even trying most days, but still knowing someone was going out of their way to avoid you when you cared so deeply for them felt like a punch to the gut. He'd have preffered Geralt left him behind that feel the need to suffer through his presence while Jaskier followed him like a lost pup, begging for scraps of affection. 

The other option, while it was a little less hurtful, still didn't feel good. He showed Geralt everyday, both in actions, words, and sometimes even in song, that he cared for him. Was open with is affection towards the man and never shyed away from expressing how much he appreciated his presence in his life, mean while Geralt would remove himself from the situation sooner than he would admit that he harboured even a sliver of affection for him in return. All he wanted was a few words, even a simple action, while he was awake, to show that Geralt gave a shit whether he was here or not. It really wasn't asking much. 

"Tell me about it when you get back? I've been itching for a new song." He asked, hoping Geralt's imagination was as underdeveloped as his social skills so he would have to make up a story or tell an old one, Jaskier is good at reading people, will know a lie when he sees it. When he was sure the contract was fake he'd make Geralt come clean. Then, he would decide whether to leave and rid Geralt of the burden of his presence, or he would lay everything bare, force Geralt to come clean about his feelings even if it diminished them. He deserved to know after all. 

Geralt nodded, still packing or re-sorting his bags, probably just keeping himself busy so he wouldn't have to face Jaskier and the awkward silence that was sure to come with it. As long as he appeared busy he wouldn't have to talk about what despereately needed talking about. 

Jaskier decided to make it easier on him, snatching his journal from the desk as well as his ink pot and pen, no new ideas in his mind but itching for something to do to escape his mind for a while, scribbling doodles to go along with previous journal entries or adjusting wording in some unfinished songs and poems. It was enough to keep his mind working and off of the thoughts that plauged him but didn't strain his thinking too heavily. 

Geralt disapeared without another word, both of them pretending to be unbothered while silently wishing he'd turn around and come back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier's day after Geralt left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has not been edited so I'm sorry if its lower quality than the previous ones.

The day turned into a semi-peaceful one, sure his ribs ached and the food Geralt left had run out by mid-day, but he'd finished an unfinished song that was startednearly half a year ago. The only downside was the song came from a place he didn't want to be in anymore. He'd hoped that after a year he may feel a little more like the worthy travel companion he'd promised Geralt he'd become, or maybe after a year of being that person Geralt would look at him instead of keep him there in his periferal vision. Instead he felt back at square one, chasing after someone who would rather leave him behind in some inn for hours on end than confront the feelings Jaskier has been silently pouring his heart out over. 

On the bright side the song was good. Feelings this strong tended to produce something worth feeling them in the first place. It was a bit dim, which was to be expected considering where the inspiration was drawn from, but it was good in it's own way. 

It won't be popular, if he ever decides to play it for the public that is, songs that aren't catchy or about some made up adventure people can vicariously live through it doesn't bring in enough coin to be worth adding to his usual set list. 

He took a break from writing half way through the day, when the food had run out and his mouth was dry as ash from the lack of water and intake of bread and salted foods. 

Walking was harder than he'd anticipated, it didn't hurt too bad, there was a slight stabbing sensation in his side but worse than that all of his muscles in the general torso area of his body felt like they'd been pulled from his body, stretched, pounded, stomped on, and pulverised before being shoved back inside. Safe to say he could do with a massage or a hot bath, both preferably. 

It made the movement needed for walking appear stiff, his body fighting against him, each pulse of his straining muscles sending a shock of pain through his spine and straight into his skull, the beginnings of a headache resting behind his eyes. 

By the time he'd gotten to the bottom of the stairs and into the taven part of the innn his knees felt ready to give out, without Geralt's alleged contract he would surely be either passed out on the road a short way out of town or laying in the bed upstairs wondering what to do now that his one friend has left him. 

No, that hadn't happened, no point dwelling on 'could haves' and 'what ifs' Geralt was coming back and he'd have time to heal. If he could make it back up those thrice damned stairs that is. 

"Can I help you sir?"

He started, nearly falling to the floor as he flinched from where he'd been leaning his weight on the wall. Recovering quickly, he came face to face with, who he assumed was barmaid or some other sort of employee here. 

"I'm just looking to buy some food?" He lifted his coin from its place in his pocket, the act catching the woman's eye. She smiled brightly, offering her arm to help him, clearly having noticed his struggle to stand. 

"Right this way sir," He mumbled his thanks and took her arm, allowing himself to be led to a table close to the back of the tavern. He hated depending on her to get there, he would have loved to lie to himself and say he didn't need the help, or that a simple walk across the room wouldn't have been impossible to manage, but as she lowered him into his seat he knew that without her help he'd be sprawled across the floor with another head injury.   
That fact didn't make in any easier to accept that he needed the help. 

She must think him pitiful, a grown man needing the help of a barmaid to get to a table that was a few strides across the room from where he was. If it weren't for his visible and mostly full coin purse he was sure she'd have left him there to collapse. It would have been deserved, he should have known he was too weak to make the trip. 

"We're serving stew this evening, I can have some brought over to you in just a moment. Would like some ale with that?" 

"Uh- yes, thank you." He'd almost forgotten she was there while his thoughts spiralled, a heavy self-conciousness settling into his chest. There aren't many people here but most of the few here are looking at him, or they were when he was led to the table. He looked like an invalid in their eyes, he must. He could only hope none of them recognized him, the rumors that tended to spiral from one account of a performer could be devastating. 

That Jaskier's finally seeing the effects of traveling with a monster

He'd heard them before, people pulling him to the side at inns and asking if he was being held against his will by Geralt, nobles offering him large sums of money so that he could live independently as if he were only with Geralt for his coin. If only those nobles knew his consistent performances brought in half of their income. 

No matter the circumstances, any signs of Jaskier seeming tired, unhappy, or less enthusiastic in his performance than people were used to led to people assuming the worst about his and Geralt's relationship. Every single off handed comment of offer of a better arrangement for Jaskier made his blood boil. They knew nothing about Geralt and his life, only seeing the mutations that made Geralt what he was and never the man he was beneath that. 

They didn't see the way Geralt resigned into himself more at those comments than people calling him a monster, or butcher. His eyes would turn downcast or he'd leave the room all together if it were a possibility, clearly hurt by the accusations. 

Jaskier has earned his fair share of shiners and split knuckles from retaliating against these people who dared to make such awful remarks to his face.   
They were well meaning, but the dulled, barely-there sadness in Geralt's eyes everytime someone ignored the witcher's presence to offer Jaskier a place to stay away from him so he could escape was enough to have him forget any manners or self-preservation he'd been taught. 

He just knew people seeing him like this would cause a new wave of those rumors to start again, and he was already on thin ice with Geralt as it would seem. 

Whether Geralt hates these rumors because it's another assault on his image or because he cared for Jaskier and didn't want people thinking he didn't always pressed on Jaskier afterwards. He couldn't ask, of course, he would never get an answer like that out of Geralt. 

It doesn't matter, either way it's another way to hurt Geralt's image, the very image Jaskier tried so hard to clean and embellish. If Jaskier couldn't do that he had no reason to continue to stay at Geralt's side, he couldn't be the very thing getting in his way of doing his job. 

He rubs his hand over his face, sighing heavily into his palm. 

Life with Geralt was a blessing, of course it was, but he hasn't had this amount of inner termoil since he lived with his parents. 

Every move he made, every decision felt like a knife to his throat. One wrong move and he could be on his own again, he could have Geralt's anger or disapoinment directed at him in seconds, his praise felt impossible to reach. It was exhausting sometimes. Trying so hard to impress the one person whose opinion matters and running into walls every time he feels like he's close to being the person Geralt might want. 

A smile, a few kind words, an action, anything to show that Geralt wasn't just putting up with him. One reprieve from the constant hurt of not being enough. Maybe he wouldn't work so hard if Geralt would only give him something to work with.   
Sometimes the emotional and physical exhaustion almost felt unworthy of the pay off. 

But then, he'll see that softness in Geralt's eye that he knows barely anyone gets to see, the man will laugh at one of his jokes, some gesture or look will freeze him where he is and fill his heart with all the reasons its all worth it. 

In those moments he can almost forget the pain, because he gets to love this man, he was let close enough to love him even if he'll never be loved back. The dread of wasting his life can be forgotten for a minute. And he's renewed for another few days of blissful ignorance, basking in the light Geralt doesn't know he exudes. 

"Here you are," The barmaid returns with his food an ale, he smiles and presses the owed coins into her hand, along with a few more for her trouble to help him. 

The bowl is smaller than he's expected but the stew is good, a little heavy on the vegetables but still good. The ale is room temperature, leaving a gross taste in the back of his throat, but it warms his stomach so he finishes the tankard without complaint. 

Finishing off the bowl he pushes it to the side and rests his head on the table, preparing himself for his trek back to the room. He couldn't even make it to the table, he has no idea how he'll make it further and up the stairs instead of down. 

He thought to flag down the bar maid and ask for her help, but the humiliation it would cause was enough for him to kill the idea just as fast as it had come to him.   
By himself, then. It was possible, he just needs a few minutes to work up the energy, then he can collapse into the bed and sleep off the exurtion as long as he likes. 

A few minutes turns into a few hours, exhausting taking him the second he allows his eyes to close. 

He's slumped over in his seat, one arm bracketing his head and the other in his lap.   
Customers and workers alike walk passed him, eyeing him curiously but leaving him where he is, there aren't many people so the table doesn't need to be cleared, and none of the patrons seem to be bothered by him, so they leave him to his rest until the sun begins the disappear behind the tree line. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also this is the last pre-written chapter so updates probably won't come every day but they will still be frequent as possible.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt gets back from his hunt and Jaskier can take care of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I'm trying to get these out asap so they're not edited as much as I'd like. If you see something wrong feel free to let me know, thank you for reading!

Geralt shut the door of their room behind him, stopping just outside. He should go back, he knows. It's unfair to leave Jaskier and to lie about why on top of that, he deserves better after all that Geralt's put him through. Has deserved better since the beginning. 

But he's not good at this, melitele knows if he turned back now and tried to voice all that he was thinking he would fuck it up worse than it already was. 

Sometimes he envies Jaskier's ability to speak and voice the emotions in his head so freely and eloquently. He could talk the sun into coming out at night if he tried, while Geralt couldn't even talk a contract holder into a fairer price without intimidation on his part. 

And yet, it seems its up to him to fix this. If Jaskier had only spoken as freely as he wanted to in front of Geralt before none of this would have happened. If he'd have just told Geralt that he had pushed him too far or that he couldn't make it into town by himself he wouldn't be alone behind that door, in pain that Geralt can't take away.

Of course he'd love to blame this mess on Jaskier's inability to speak up, but he knew it was all about his inability to listen. He wanted so desperately for Jaskier to trust him but gave the man no reason to. Ignored him when he was in need, nearly cost him everything. 

He takes a deep breath to stop himself from punching a hole in the wall in front of him, they can't afford to be kicked out of the inn because of his unchecked anger. Jaskier wasn't ready to be back on the road, the least Geralt could do was keep them in a place where Jaskier can heal. 

He rides out of town, he'd told Jaskier he was going on a contract so he has an entire day to kill and a story to make up for when he returns. 

That won't be hard, he thinks, he can dig up some old contract from before he met Jaskier or one he never gave in and told the man about. It also won't be hard to kill the day. 

It's a little past mid-day and the sun is still high, summer is ending but the hours of sunlight haven't wavered too much yet. Roach is happy for the exercise without being pushed to make it to a village or having to run away from something chasing them. They can simply enjoy themselves, trotting out of town and galloping until they've reached a clearing right next to a stream, a perfect place for Roach to graze while Geralt sits and relaxes. 

The stream is a welcomed background noise. It's not often he gets to sit and take in silence apart from the world around him. It's not unwelcome, but along with the context of the past two days it erks him a bit. This could have been his normal again, silence if naught for the chatter or impromptu song about not being able to touch Roach despite his aching feet. 

At the time those songs had made him smother a laugh, now he can't help but wonder if all those little signs and hints were serious, Jaskiers indirect way of telling Geralt he had been walking too long or simply needed a break, another thing that Geralt ignored, hurting Jaskier in the end. 

"What should I do Roach?" He asks, turning to face the mare.

She stops her chewing on the patch of grass she's working on and huffs at Geralt, as if she actually understood and could answer the question. Sometimes Geralt thought she could. 

"Hmm," He answers, taking her response as a less than kind, /it's the obvious answer/ sort of 'talk to him,'

Why does she always have to be right? He'll talk to him. He decides as he stands up from the where he'd been leaning against a tree and begins to pace in circles around the clearing. 

There's not obvious way to begin the conversation, it's not even entirely clear what conversation they need to be having. 

He knows he needs to be better, needs to make the path a more welcome environment for Jaskier by listening better, learning to notice when he's getting tired, or thirsty, or is in pain.   
He needs to be there for Jaskier the way Jaskier has always been there for him. 

The bard never hesitated to learn everything he could about Geralt, it's scary how easily Jaskier can read him now, there's not thought that goes through his head the Jaskier couldn't read off the subtle changes in his face or body, and Geralt was reluctant to let Jaskier in, didn't make learning him an easy task. 

Jaskier was an open book, if Geralt would have given his companion a passing thought he would already be able to read the man half as well as Jaskier can read him. All he had to do is try. Now it's going to be hard. Jaskier has buried away parts of himself that he doesn't want Geralt to see, the exact parts Geralt needs to get to if he wants to fix what he broke. 

The sound of his sword unseathing from it's place on his back rings in the air as he swings the steel blade towards the unsuspecting branch of a tree, severing it from it's low perch. 

Some of the unrelenting energy and swirling emotions feel controlled for that split second. Swinging his sword he doesn't have to think of anything but the feel of the weapon in his hand and it's destination as he destroys whatever he has to to bring back some semblance of calm to the hurricanes inside. 

Figuring this all out turned out to be harder than it seemed, and by the time the sun began to set half of the trees in the clearing were missing as many branches as Geralt could reach. 

He was sweating from the effort, his arm beginning to feel the reprecusions from hours of endless chopping and hacking away at the rough wood. He'd have to sharpen it again when he got back to the inn. It helped with his see-through cover story though, and his mind felt clearer than it had in hours. 

Never the less, he can't waste anymore time taking his anger out on the forest, Jaskier is still alone at the inn and his wound should probably be cleaned again before he falls asleep. 

"Witcher!" He hears someone call the moment he's entered the tavern, he steels himself for verbal abuse, but releases the scowl when a vaugely familier woman comes up to him with a smile on her face. 

"You're the one that came here with the bard, yes?" She asks. Ah, she was the woman who was working when he bought the room, explains the familiarity. 

"Yes," 

"Good, we've no idea what to do with him, and I couldn't bear waking him up he seemed so tired." 

Anxiety rises up his stomach and into his throat as she speaks, bubbling into his mouth like a bitter fruit as he sees Jaskier draped over the table. 

"How long has he been asleep?" He asks, kneeling down to gently shake at Jaskier's shoulder. He spots the bowl and mug on the table and scowls, he knew he should have left more food, Jaskier never would have left the room if he had thought more about what he would need rather then how quickly he could get out of there. 

"Hours, he was out the second he finished his meal." 

"I'll take care of him," 

She thanks him and leaves Geralt to tend to Jaskier. 

He puts on hand on Jaskier's chest, gently pushing him back until he's sat up right in the seat, his head balanced carefully in Geralt's other hand.   
There's a crease in his shirt where he'd been pressed against the table, directly across where Geralt can see the outline of bandages. 

He curses under his breath as all the possible damages Jaskier could have caused cross his mind. Despite the urge in the back of his mind to wake Jaskier right now and tell him off for his reckless behaviour, that could wait until they were both safe back in the room. 

The hand on Jaskier's head moves down his back and around his shoulders, heaving Jaskier out of the chair and pulling him up and into his chest. Jaskier's head polled back onto Geralt's shoulder, the rest of his body hanging just as uselessly in his grip. 

Jaskier was not a small man by any means, his limbs hanging out of Geralt's arms as he carried him back to the room, his feet banging against the slim hallway more times that Geralt cared for before they got inside. 

He placed Jaskier down on the bed, shaking his shoulders until the younger man's eyes cracked open. 

"What were you thinking?" He bit out before Jaskier was fully lucid. 

He shrunk back in on himself where he was laying, his body reacting instinctually to the angry tone before he could comprehend the words. 

"You could have hurt yourself falling asleep like that, not to mention what people could have done while you were out cold. Do you want to stay in this town, in this inn forever while your lack of self-preservation keeps you bed-ridden forever?" He bared his teeth as the fear he felt carrying Jaskiers limp body, so much like a lifeless one, translated into anger.   
How is he supposed to get better at caring for Jaskier is Jaskier won't even care for himself?

Jaskier was staring up at him with wide eyes until the words clicked in his brain and his gaze became fixed on the bed sheets. 

"I'm sorry. I just wanted something to eat and I couldn't make it back up the stairs." 

"You could have waited for me," Geralt retaliated, blind to any sense Jaskier had to go down there in his state. 

"Waited all day?" Jaskier shot back softly, still not meeting Geralt's eye. 

"Was what I left not enough? You put yourself in danger for nothing Jaskier!"

"I already said I was sorry, what do you want from me?" Jasker asked desperately, hands fisting the sheets at his side. 

"Nothing! Just-" He huffed and sat heavily on the bed. "Let's just get your bandages changed and make sure you have everything to suit your needs tomorrow, okay?" 

"I can do it myself, and if you're so bothered by my 'needs' than you can just fuck off and let me take care of me." Jaskier scoffed, grabbing his pack, lute, and few medical supplies he has and left, the door slamming on his way out. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate how this turned out and I'm sorry it took so long I was away from the internet for a while and couldn't post.  
> 

The sound of the door slamming echoes in the empty room, the noise feeling like a blow to Geralt's chest where he should have done better. 

All that time spent thinking and knowing what he was doing wrong and he comes back just to make it worse, no Jaskier is in pain, gone, and probably thinks Geralt blames him for that.   
And yet again, Geralt knows it's up to him to fix it in a way he doesn't understand. 

If he tried to talk it out again he would only ruin it over and over again, the evidence is undisputed. But he can't stay silent at this point, no amount of pretending it didn't happen and moving on hoping all is forgiven will fix this. 

Gods this would be easier if he had a few days to plan, maybe someone who knows what they're doing to consult, the only problem is that consultant is always Jaskier, and he's in more danger the longer he's where ever he ran off to alone. 

Fuck, this is why he doesn't concern himself in human affairs. 

Jaskier is why he does anyway, and for the first time these two notions are completely at odds with each other. He's actively attaching himself to human affairs to keep one specific human at his side. Fighting for companionship for the first time. If you don't count shopping for another good Roach. 

"Fuck," He mutters, standing up from where he was sitting on the bed and towards the door, the noise of it connecting harshly with he frame still playing over in his head as he closes it behind himself, far gentler that Jaskier. 

There's no sign of him, Geralt can't tell if it's a good thing that he was able to disappear so fast or if he's overexerting himself and making his injuries worse. 

Not at any of the tables or benches at the bar, he can only hope he hasn't wandered out into the night. The thought twists his insides, he shoves them to the back of his mind. Jaskier has been mad, not stupid, he wouldn't actively put himself in that much danger, he has to be around here somewhere. 

"I've been requested not to tell you where he is if you ask," He turns his head so fast the resulting crack snaps inside his skull. 

"Jaskier?" He askes, approaching the man behind the bar. 

"He didn't give a name, but I doubt anyone else would have a witcher looking for them."

"Is he okay?" 

"He's safely in another room, but he looked dead on his feet, you'd think he'd walked halfway across the continent by the time he got back up the stairs." He smirked, his eyes facing the stairs as if Jaskier were still there. 

"What room? I can pay you or-"

"You the one that made him look like that? It's not often a man in that shape asks I not tell the witcher where he is."

Geralt's stomach sinks, of course that would be the conclusion. It was the obvious answer for any outsider viewing the situation, but it did make it a lot harder for him to get to Jaskier. 

"No, Jaskier is my friend I would never hurt him." He says, though the voice inside tells him that he had hurt him, that Jaskier wouldn't be in this situation and so many ones passed, if it weren't for him. 

"He was hurt a while back and we got into a, disagreement earlier. I just want to make sure he's okay." 

The man raises an eyebrow, his eyes scanning over Geralt's face, down then back up again, looking for Geralt's intentions on his person apparently. 

"Any violence and I'll have both of you thrown out." He states simply, Geralt nodding along immediately. 

"Last door on the left." The second the words leave his mouth the man turns and leaves through the back of the tavern. 

He silently bids his thanks to the man before making his way to the room he was instructed to, hearing Jaskier's heavy breathing and occasional groan or huff of pain as he gets closer to the door, unease and uncertainty rising in him the closer he gets. He has to see Jaskier is okay, but anything he thought to say is wiped clean. 

The door is unlocked so he lets himself in, Jaskier is sat on the bed his arm twisted awkwardly behind his back trying unsucsefully to rub one his own salves across the darkened bruises on his back. 

He spins with wide eyes at the sound of the door being opened, relaxing once he sees who it is. His face falling, going back to the task silently as if Geralt had never walked in. 

Geralt walks slowly to the bed side, his footsteps light but loud enough to let Jaskier know where he is. 

"May I?" He asks, kneeling beside Jaskier and reaching for the salve Jaskier can't apply properly. 

For the second time that night a pair of eyes travel over Geralt, stopping on his own yellow eyes.   
He nods and Jaskier takes the salve just as quickly, shifting to sit behind Jaskier on the bed. 

They sit in silence as he spread what Jaskier had already managed more evenly, adding his own to what the bard had missed while he thinks of something to break the silence. Right now is his time to explain himself, Jaskier is letting the silence sit, giving Geralt the moment, and he'll be damned if he doesn't use it. 

"I'm sorry Jaskier, I shouldn't have yelled at you, or been angry with you at all. You just-

"No, you're not going to tell me what I did wrong, or what I should have done. Your apology is about you." He cuts him off, crossing his arms in front of him. 

"I was scared. I thought you hurt yourself when you fell asleep down there and I want you to get better so we can get back on the path. So I can never let this happen again. The longer we stay here the longer I'm hurting you." 

Geralt's surprised at himself that he managed to get the words out, calmly at that, nothing shouted or bitten out. Having his hands busy with a task that requires being gentle certainly helped, Jaskier's instruction as well. He can only hope it's enough for now. 

"I know you were worried. I should have been more careful, I just hate you making everything my fault." 

"It wasn't your fault, none of this was Jaskier. I wasn't thinking when I left." He really shouldn't have left, it had been a lapse of judgement on Geralt's part. Nothing to be done about it now. 

"You're right." Jaskier concedes a few moments later. "Now give me that back you've been rubbing circles in the same place since you last spoke,"

"Oh, right." He hands the salve back to Jaskier, noticing that he had in fact finished the actual job a while ago, continuing the motion uselessly while they talked. 

"Are you coming back to our room?" Geralt asks, not mentioning that he wouldn't get any sleep if he couldn't see Jaskier sleeping safely in the same room. 

"I paid for this room." 

"I'll give you back the money," He offers, hating the thought of Jaksier needing him and not being able to make it down the hallway and into his room. He would stay here if he had to, outside the door if Jaskier kicked him out. Anything to make sure he was okay. 

"I'll need help to get back, keep your coin." He stands and struggles to where Geralt is standing, quickly being swept off his feet once he's close enough. 

He yelps as he's lifted into Geralt's arms, wrapping his around Geralt's neck with a huff of laughter. 

"I really just needed someone to lean on," 

"This is faster," Geralt excuses, not fighting the smile on his face at hearing Jaskier laugh, having the weight of him safe in his arms. 

"Well I'm not complaining," He mumbles as he rests his head on Geralt's shoulder. 

His heart feels like it's beating at the speed of a humans as he feels Jaskier melt into him, his eyes closing before they even get back to the room. 

Not everything is better, but Jaskier is back safe, trusting Geralt enough to fall asleep in his hold.   
It feels like the beginning of a better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, sorry if it seems abrupt I lost inspiration for this story but didnt want to leave it without at least a bit of an ending.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading


End file.
